Hissy, hissy little snakey
by AriadneW
Summary: Who doesn't know the story of Merope Gaunt, mother of the famous Lord Voldemort? Who hasn't heard of Marvolo Gaunt, descendant of Salazar Slytherin and owner of the well-known ring? But have you heard the story of his son, Merope's brother, Morfin Gaunt?


'My grandfather wasn't of the happy lot, - Blake,one of my fellow Death Eaters began patting his serpents head, - I bet you have noticed that the Gaunts aren't very popular, due to the rumors that have been lurking 'round them since Marvolo died? Well, that would probably be because of Morfin, Marvolo's son. Not to say that he was fully insane – no, never. I would say he has been crazed by Azkaban a bit, but to more. Mind you, Morfin Gaunt never pinned snakes to the front door- that is as true as Beetle the Bard's tales. Anyway, the story I wanted to tell you is not as interesting as Merope's, but I do advise you to listen to it...'

* * *

><p>… 'Out of the way, you!' screeched a man, pushing some girl and making his way toward the Little Hangleton's only pub – the 'Hanged man'. The young man was rather tall, broad-shouldered, his dark eyes glared coldly from under dirty black hair. The patches on his long robes showed how old it was. He shuddered when the freezing air played with his hair. Morfin pushed the door of the pub open and took a step inside.<p>

'Oy, Gaunt, you again,' the barman cried, taking a bottle of Fire Whiskey out, - Bad weather, eh?

'Could have been worse,' replied Morfin Gaunt darkly, shaking snow off his robes, - I believe, it has been snowing since morning. Any remarkable news, lately?

No reply came, for Robert, the keeper of the pub had busied himself with finding a clean glass for Gaunt's whiskey. The pub was silent, probably because of the very late time.

'Where's Daphne?' asked Morfin suddenly, watching the barman swear about having no decent goblets.

'Daphne...?' Robert looked at him, as though petrified, 'Oh, she... DAPHNE!

Nothing happened.

'OY YOU DAPHNE!'

Still no result.

'Oh, I gonna kill the bitch, DAPHNE!' roared the keeper and stormed into the back of the pub, hurrying to find Daphne and, probably, a proper glass.

After a couple of minutes of crashing and screaming, a young lady appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a pretty, long, red dress.

'Now why did you have to disturb me, you miserable piece of slime?' she shrieked, throwing a flower from her head at Robert, 'If it wasn't for you I would already be...'

She stopped the moment she saw Gaunt and her mouth spread in a strange, maniacal smile, making her look even better than she had been. Her light, curly hair had grown even longer and were now almost up to her waist, but her bright, hazel eyes still gleamed with a teasing, crazy sort of light.

'Oh, it's you, Morfin,' she hissed, amused by something, 'care to treat me with some whiskey?'

She reached for his goblet, which Robert had just filled with alcohol.

'Don't touch it!' he roared, grabbing it from her reach, 'Do it one more time, and you're fired.

'Give it to her,' Gaunt replied quickly, 'I bet she deserves it.'

For all we know, he might be right. Daphne was a french courtesan, Morfin's old friend and ex-bride, and as he had noticed her English hasn't really improved in these few years they haven't seen each other. It was a long story, which was painful to remember, so Gaunt tried to push it in the back of his mind. Robert sniffed disapprovingly and disappeared in the depths of the pub, leaving them alone.

'Still at work?' Morfin chuckled, watching her drain the goblet.

'For you – yeah, but not for the others...' she replied putting the glass down and examining Gaunt carefully.

'Why so?' he laughed nervously, not liking the way she was looking at him. This look of hatred and yet mystery always gave him a fright.

'Oh.. Icky Morfin doesn't know?

'What?', he asked suspiciously, not liking her tone even more, 'What's the matter?'

Robert finally appeared out of the storage with a bottle of wine, that Morfin had ordered. Gaunt grabbed it and poured some in their glasses.

Daphne dried another glass and laughed hysterically.

'I would like to see you work with a child, that needs to be cared for,' she spat coldly.

'Well, that was your problem, wasn't it? he muttered as coolly, 'I don't know why your so aggressive at the moment. It's not for me to help you solve your problems.'

Daphne leaned forward to whisper in his ear:

'Maybe... although I rarely see children talking with snakes at the age of three.'

Gaunt jumped up, almost knocking the table over.

'We have a child!' - he asked bewildered, watching the woman polish her nails, as though nothing has happened, 'And you never told me anything?'

'I thought you were too busy with dementors at the time. We were supposed to get married, remember? But you preferred 'helping' your sister instead of making me happy. I win this time, Morfin.'

Daphne got up and collected the bottles and glasses off the table, taking them to the wash, as Gaunt sat back down and stared at the wall.

'What can I do now?' he asked loosely, '_Is_ there anything I can do?'

'Fucking out of this town would help,' she replied smiling unpleasantly, 'Or helping me do so. Your choice.'

'Oh, and where are you going to go? Without money? Without family?'

'To my homeland, France,' snorted the woman looking at him with disgust, 'You've changed.'

He has. Morfin Gaunt used to be a handsome, healthy man with philosophical ideas and an obsession with blood purity. All what was left now, was a thin, ill Gaunt, without emotions and with sick, drained out feelings.

'You too,' he chuckled returning back to his evil self, 'You got fatter.'

'Hope that's a compliment,' she snapped, stretching her hand out, 'Two gallions for the whiskey and wine.'

Gaunt stood up and threw the money on the table, putting his cloak on and making his way to the exit.

'It's Gerard,' Daphne called as he was opening the door, 'Your son's name is Gerard.'

Morfin snorted and slammed the door shut.

* * *

><p>'Perhaps that is why my father doesn't speak English,' Blake concluded, finishing the story, 'He's lived in France most of his childhood and even learned in Beauxbaton. My grandmother Daphne died when I was 14, the tale of Morfin Gaunt, Lord Voldemort's uncle, I have personally heard from her.<p>

'How come you speak English then?'

'That is another story, another biography,' he smiled mysteriously, humming his favorite song in parseltongue.

"_Hissy, hissy, little snakey,  
>Slither on the floor<br>You be good to Morfin  
>Or he'll nail you to the door.<em>"

* * *

><p>If you reviewed my story I would be very thankful!<p> 


End file.
